


A Clandestine Affair

by QuillerQueen



Series: Love As the Moon Loves [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2019-03-07 05:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13427349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: On the secret Queenie Regina's kept from Robin of Locksley, and what happens when he finds out. Written for Dark!OQ Week 2017, prompt "first fight".





	A Clandestine Affair

It's not cheating.

It absolutely is  _not_.

True, Regina does sneak out every few days behind Robin's back on business that remains carefully hidden from him. They're each their own person after all, and it's perfectly healthy to not be joined at the hip all the time—and never does she remind herself of this more often than those mornings she slips out of their bed at the crack of dawn, leaving a short note with a salacious promise of quality time later that night, and delves into the depths of the forest for one of her very special dates.

A date that doesn't involve her soul mate—and one it's absolutely crucial he doesn't find out about.

And this may not be cheating, but there's an element of deception all the same. Regina doesn't particularly like this state of things—hates it with a passion, in fact. Oh how she wishes she could just tell him, for even though it's not what it may seem, the secret eats at her, and the reason it's even necessary (and it is, it really is, she's thought about it long and hard, but she can't,  _cannot_  pick between them) leaves a bitter, lingering taste in her mouth. Yet as much as it weighs on her conscience, Robin simply can't know about these meetings.

For now.

* * *

Robin likes himself a bit of independence. Preferably a good, large chunk of it. Although truthfully—in an unprecedented and, honestly, shocking manner—lately he's been rather happy to part with his solitary pursuits just to relish the company of the enchanting woman fate had brought into his life. He likes to be around her—whether it's playing their cat and mouse games, trading confidences, or engaging in other  _stimulating_  activities.

Still he also enjoys the time apart—enjoys the fact that she, like him, isn't one to limit her personhood to just being one half of a couple (he still has trouble thinking of himself as part of a couple at all, but that is what he is now, isn't he, and he's not complaining either). Time alone comes in especially handy for one still seeking himself. It takes time, this transition from Robin of Locksley, scoundrel, to whatever version of himself he wants to be. It's a lot to figure out, and some of that Regina helps with, but the bulk of it is really up to him.

So Robin doesn't begrudge Regina her little escapades, far from it; and he's plenty to do when it's only him. A bit of hunting, a bit of poaching (although does it still qualify as such when he's doing it in his lover's forests?), and an awful lot of soul-searching.

Except one sunny afternoon he wanders off to a nook of the woods he's avoided before, and his search for answers turns up a daunting secret, a bitter betrayal, and a myriad more questions.

* * *

Regina returns at dusk, tired and dishevelled but uplifted, a flicker of guilt not quite extinguished as she enters her chambers and spots Robin on the balcony. Even his silhouette betrays a rigid posture, his shoulders squared and hands gripping the flimsy railing. The vision of the scrumptious dinner she was about to conjure up for the two of them fades faster than the setting sun.

"Sorry I'm late," she purrs to his back, but her barely formed grin wavers when he doesn't respond. It's not the first time he's come back from his wanderings broody and pensive though, so she swallows the knot forming in her throat and steps out to him, leaning in to whisper: "Maybe I could make it up to you with dessert?"

"It's going to take a lot more than that,  _Your Majesty_."

He hasn't moved, but his voice cuts like a knife, and Regina shudders.

"Robin, what's going on?" Her hand hovers over his bicep, but she doesn't quite dare touch him for fear he'll flinch or shy away.

"Nothing I haven't encountered before. Just didn't expect it from you, is all. All the more stupid me."

"I—don't understand. What exactly is it I've done?"

"You betrayed me, Regina! Or perhaps we've both been fooling ourselves all this time. Either way, it's another you pine after."

Her answer comes unbidden, automatic, probably unwise; but the accusation stings, and her temper has always been rather volatile.

"That's ridiculous," she scoffs.

"Then why have you been running off to meet with  _him_  behind my back?"

Regina stares. Does he—does he really think she's taken a lover? After the lengths she'd gone to for them to get another chance to be together? Guilt flares up again, but in its wake comes anger. What is he basing this on other than her unaccounted for absences? She could just as easily make the same assumptions, for she has no more knowledge of his whereabouts when away than he does of hers. And she's about to tell him so, about to unbottle her rage—but his next words freeze her on the spot.

"Why," he repeats, and his voice oozes anger and disappointment and hurt, so much hurt, "if not in hopes I may one day be talked into meeting the brat?"

The— _oh_.

_Shit._

He knows.

* * *

Robin is seething.

He trusted this woman. He'd come to actually trust her, to lo—to like her. A fair bit more so than is currently convenient, because now he's being torn to shreds by the twin demons of rage and resentment. He won't admit to the hurt clawing at his insides, the deep wound coming from the knowledge that much like he'd suspected, and despite her fervent denial, he's never been enough for her.

Regina's face is a mask of shock, her mouth hanging open—he's stunned her into silence it seems. And is he not worth so much as a feeble attempt at—what? Denial? Reconciliation? What is it he'd have her do, exactly? Truthfully he doesn't know, but the longer she's silent, the hotter his blood boils and the colder his heart.

"Don't say that," she finally deigns to speak, her voice laced with pain. "Please don't call him—that."

And she's much too calm (with her temper, that's not at all how he'd pictured their first big fight to go), and oddly penitent for one so defiant. Yet all her words accomplish is twist the knife even more. It's not Robin she cares about—it's that other wretch's brat. It's the brat she defends with her first breath, and judging by the scene Robin had witnessed earlier, she'd defend him with her last.

"Tell me this: exactly how big a joke am I to you?"

"You are not a joke. Roland—"

"That's it? Five measly words, and we're back to  _Roland_?" He spits out the name like it's something vile and revolting, and she flinches. Fucking flinches, like he's besmirched the child, and fine, serves her right for what she's done.

"He's important to me," she reasons, clearly forcing herself to retain some semblance of calm, though her hands are clenched into fists.

"That he is," Robin growls, the bitter tang of words unsaid choking him, unsure whether he wishes for her to hear the unspoken  _unlike me_  or not.

But she doesn't seem to take kindly to him mocking the child and their relationship, and her ever short fuse goes up in flames.

"So what?" she challenges, her nostrils flaring. "Are you going to make me choose?"

"Why the hell would I do that? You've already chosen."

"Yes, and I've chosen both of you! You're just too blinded by your fear to see it!"

That's an observation much too close to the truth, and Robin won't have that. He won't be called a coward, and he won't be mocked for being unreasonable when he's every right to be mad with her, to rage and yell and demand answers he knows fully well are more likely to damn than save him.

"You said you wanted a fresh start. Why couldn't you just let it be?"

Regina deflates at that, her ponytail whipping once more as she stops pacing and turns abruptly to face him. Her expression has gone soft even as she visibly struggles to find the right words.

"Because I love him," she tells him eventually. "He's the only one I have left from before. My fresh start means moving past a lot of pain and suffering, but it also means losing people I care about. I—I can handle it, I think, because my other half gets to be around them, and because we're both part of the other… Knowing Regina still has our family—" she seems to struggle with the word, like the thought of having a family at all is baffling to her, "—I suppose that's what makes it—tolerable. But Roland—he's  _here_. And I missed him. Ever since I sought him out, I've been questioning my decision to keep it from you, but I thought it was for the best, for you to—"

And now she's gone beseeching, and Robin's having none of that.

"Oh, I see now," he cuts her off, voice dripping sarcasm. "This is all about what's best for me! Silly me, how could I have been so dense?"

"Robin, stop it! I'm serious, I'm—at least I'm making an effort to make this right, but you're not even trying!"

But he's no patience for any of this, is in no mood for excuses because damn it, he feels lied to and manipulated and he's no interest in being coddled and comforted when she doesn't even seem to understand the real issue in the first place.

"Well this is not generally what one expects of a fresh start, yeah? Especially since it was you who first pursued me. So what the hell was all this for?"

"I just told you! Roland, he's," she hesitates, and Robin hates— _hates_ —the way her voice breaks. "He'd become a huge part of my life, back when there wasn't much light in it. And when he left Storybrooke—it broke my heart even more."

More than it had already been broken with grief for the kid's father. She doesn't say so, but they both know it's what she means, and it grates on Robin that she wants to shield him, frustrates him that he can't even find comfort in that but only feels rawer by the second.

"You love him."

"Yes," she admits easily, despite his framing it as an accusation. "Is that really so horrible? Can you not—"

"Can't I what, Regina? Tolerate it? Live with it? Warm up to the thought?"

"Yes! Robin, I'm not asking you to meet him, I'm not asking you to have anything to do with him—"

"Maybe not now, but how about later? Do you mean to tell me you haven't the tiniest bit of hope that things might change one day?" That hits her, sucker-punches her into silence, and isn't that telling in itself? But Robin, blubbering idiot that he clearly is, needs to hear it from her. Perhaps he's even dumb enough to hope she'll deny it convincingly enough that he can believe her. "Tell me the truth—I deserve that from you."

She nods slowly, tiredly; draws a deep, never-ending breath. And there it is, that flicker of guilt in those goddamn expressive eyes of hers, and he knows it's over then, but she hammers it in all the same because he was fool enough to ask.

"Fine," she exhales heavily. "Yes, there may be…some hope that, in time… But—"

"We're done here."

"No!" she shrieks, positively shrieks, and the air is suddenly charged with magic she can barely contain as it sizzles on her fingertips. "I want to understand, Robin! Tell me why! What could Roland possible have done to—"

"This isn't about that! You think I'm jealous of some child? You think I'm that pathetic? Maybe I am, but not for the reasons you bloody think!"

"Fucking tell me then!"

Robin has the briefest thought that he should just bow out of this with the last vestiges of dignity—only to throw caution to the winds because this fucking  _hurts_ , burns deep in his gut as well as his throat as he shouts back:

"You love him for him!"

* * *

Ultimately, her worst fears have proved right: this is still about Other Robin.

She's failed him—has failed them both, has failed Roland as well.

Regina had resisted for days, and maybe that doesn't sound like much but to her it had been. Roland had been in this very realm—precious, dimpled, tousled-haired Roland—and she'd known eventually she'd cave and look for him. She never mentions Robin to the child, not by name at least, even though it's been hard to deflect curious questions about her living arrangements and when Roland can come to the castle for a sleepover. At least she's protected the sweet little boy in this awful mess of a situation—but Robin hasn't been so lucky.

It had been a tough choice, keeping this from him, but for the best—or so she'd thought. There would be time, she'd convinced herself, after Robin had gotten used to this new land, this new life, and this new relationship (her heart skips a beat—is it still one or has she shattered it to pieces?). Later, when he felt more confident in himself and in them, when he stopped doubting her true motivation and feelings for him. After they both came to terms with—everything.

Then, and only then, she could reveal her secret, and perhaps together they could begin to work out where to next.

But Robin found out too soon, and Regina (just like years previously with Henry) hadn't been ready. She handled their conversation all wrong—not that it was much of one to begin with once their tempers, and that ever-present hurt following in their steps, took the better of them both.

And now here she stands, in the door of the chambers he'd claimed as his but hardly used lately, wondering how the hell to fix this. And part of her—the once Evil Queen—resents the idea that she should seek his forgiveness, would much prefer to just patch up their relationship with some good old make-up sex and be done with it. But this isn't a problem that's going to go away. They need to communicate, and between the two of them, it seems she's ironically now the one more in touch with her feelings, and more practised in resolving conflicts in a healthy way.

She needs to make the first step—but what does she say to him?

_I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier. I should have reacted better when you found out and questioned my motives. I should have made it clear that I respect your choice. Roland isn't your son. As odd as that may feel to me, he's a stranger to you. And I truly mean it when I say I don't want you to replace anyone. That would be disrespectful to you, and Roland, and Robin's memory._

Regina could say all that, but she knows it's too much too soon, that right now it would fall on deaf ears anyway.

So instead she crosses the room with her heart hammering irritatingly, embarrassingly, against her ribcage and slips into bed next to Robin's —or rather onto it, curling up on top of the covers. His face is barely discernible in the dark, but she can tell he's lying on his back with his eyes wide open, very consciously not looking at her. She blows out an annoyed little breath—stubborn, stubborn man. He's almost as bad as herself, fire coupled with fire, but unless they want their flammable tempers to consume them and with it every dream of mutual happiness, one of them needs to rise above. Right now, that someone needs to be her.

"Robin," she whispers, wishing her obstinate soul mate would at least acknowledge her somehow, raising her voice when he doesn't because she won't have him pretending he can't hear what she has to say or mistaking her whisper for lack of conviction. "I'm with  _you._ I  _want_  to be with you. I don't want you to be someone else—just your best self. And I promise you I wasn't going to try and talk you into—into fathering Roland."

For the longest time they just lie there, silent and motionless. Regina's heart sinks deeper and deeper with every passing moment, her defiance on the other hand ever on the rise—she's reached out; now it's Robin's turn. At long last, without turning his head, he lifts the corner of the covers for her. Regina closes her eyes in relief, then climbs in and settles shoulder to shoulder with him, not quite touching but close.

She's dozing off when he speaks, and his words keep her awake until the small hours of the morning.

"Good. Because I'm not going to. Not Roland, not anyone. Not ever."


End file.
